One-Way Trip
by likebutter
Summary: Instead of Pepper, Tony calls Bruce Wayne in what he believes are his last moments. AU, taking place during The Avengers and disregarding the events of The Dark Knight Rises. Bruce Wayne/Tony Stark.


The missile that passed him by in a blur in his peripheral caught Iron Man's attention and he moved to pursue it, refusing to surrender until he was attached to the damn thing like a koala. Coming up with a plan quickly while under immense pressure was always something Stark was always a connoisseur of and it was no different now.

Sensing his plan, JARVIS chimed in. "You know this is a one way trip, sir."

Tony remained seemingly indifferent, quickly approaching Stark Tower. "A pleasure working with you, JARVIS."

"I shall call Miss Potts, I assume?"

A soft clicking noise could be heard; the one the tongue made when it unglued itself from the roof of his mouth. He'd opened his mouth to assent to JARVIS's notion but another person came to mind, if this was going to be his last phone call. _This would be his last phone call._

"No."

JARVIS sounded surprised, for as much a computer could. "Then who?"

"Bruce."

"Right away, sir."

Bruce Wayne's portrait, grinning at him, appeared. He sighed, looking at it, if it was the last thing he saw before total darkness than it would be okay.

-

Bruce had just turned six, Tony was eleven. Annoyed at the prospect of basically babysitting his father's friend's son, the older boy sat in a bit of a huff, thinking tantrums were too juvenile. Even if he was a self-proclaimed boy genius, he was still a kid, prone to behaving like so.

Bruce was quietly working on a page of a crossword puzzle adjacent from him, minding himself. It was odd and unusual finding a boy so young and withdrawn. Usually kids were up his ass in the rare occasions that he bothered with that noise. So, annoyed, Tony stood and moved to sit next to the younger boy, who gave him a curious look, but went back to his crossword. He seemed stumped on a word.

Now irate, Tony cleared his throat. That definitely got Brucie-Bear's attention, as he was met with the intense sapphire gaze of the other boy.

_Brucie-bear_. Kind of had a ring to it.

"Stuck on something?" Tony asked. Bruce gave a loose shrug of his shoulders before averting his attention back to the crossword puzzle. The older snatched the crossword, and the younger brunet gave a noise of protest as he reached for it again.

"Hey, give it back. It's mine!"

Tony sniggered, holding it out of Bruce's reach. "Hey, look, it talks!"

"I'm serious, you're going to rip it!" he sneered, nearly jumping onto Tony's lap to grab it. The latter found this amusing and kept it up for a good moment or so, before finally giving up, but not giving the paper back to Bruce.

"I'm trying to help you," he said, seriously, and then took the pencil. Now consoled, Bruce watched him fill in the only vacant slot in the puzzle. The question was, _what is like a writing desk_? Tony easily scribbled in _raven_, seemingly without a second thought, and it fit in seamlessly. Feeling stupid, Bruce took the paper when it was offered to him and glanced at the other boy.

"T-thank you."

"You're welcome."

Though Tony would never admit it, he'd grown somewhat of a liking for Bruce. However, he wouldn't see him much for the next few years after his parents' murders. A part of him pitied the younger boy, wanted to see him and tell him he understood how he felt even though his parents were there and breathing and alive _but not really there at all_, but the sentiment was replaced by more pressing matters soon enough.

It was a week before Christmas, 1996. Bruce was twenty-two, Tony was twenty-seven. By this time, it was Tony's time to shine, Tony's time to take over his father's legacy. And he made sure he did a damn good job of it, made sure he lived up to his father's impossibly high expectations and even _higher_.

He was holding the Stark Annual Christmas Party, as he did every year since his parents were killed. After greeting all of the guests – or sure that he greeted all of the guests, really, because there were so many of them that he hardly knew but _pretended_ he knew with a fake grin—he decided to head over to the bar area. Drinking during these sorts of things—in fact, booze with everything—was the scion's primary modus operandi, and a flock of women are soon to follow. Not that he minded the attention; beautiful women, his company, and booze were his only concerns at that point in time.

However, sometimes the excessive attention grated his nerves and he made it clear by driving people away with his snippy, sarcastic remarks. Pushing people away always worked well for Tony.

When he reached the bar area, he was somewhat buzzed, having drank before the party. Where was the harm in getting a teensy bit inebriated? However, as he was about to order his drink, he spotted Wayne in his peripheral, dressed in a fine tuxedo, cleanly shaved, and sipping at what looked to be a glass of ginger ale.

"Bruce," Stark greeted, noticing the empty stool besides the younger man but not sitting quite yet. He placed a hand on his broad shoulder and clasped it companionably.

"Tony, it's been awhile." The boyish grin that spread upon Bruce's features was forced. It wasn't genuine at all and, in fact, he seemed tense, like he was . Inwardly frowning upon that, Tony took a seat.

"It has. Hope you don't mind if I sit."

"Not at all."

Tony waved to the bartender, who immediately gave him his attention. "Two rum and coke."

"It's alright, I have a drink right here."

Bruce chuckled, giving the tender a dismissive hand gesture. Tony sighed, removed his thick wallet from his pocket, and carelessly tossed a fifty dollar bill to the other side of the counter. "C'mon, Brucie, live a little. It's all on me."

The younger sighed and finally nodded in agreement. It was clear Tony was just as stubborn as himself, which was admittedly not a very admirable feat. Feeling victorious, the older man grinned and folded his hands over the cool granite countertop. Bruce was quiet, as usual. That was okay, because Tony enjoyed speaking.

"So, Brucie, what do you want to do, after you get out of school?" That was a nice starter for a conversation, Tony thought. At least it would get Bruce to say more than a fucking word or so.

The younger of the two shrugged.

_Or not._

"I do want to carry on what my family built, but I really don't know what I want to do." That was better, Tony thought. As he opened his mouth to reply, their drinks arrived. Picking them up in delight, he handed one to Bruce.

"How about we talk about it, over the drinks?"

Bruce nodded. He was appreciative.

So was Tony.

It had been seven years. Bruce returned as a changed man, and Gotham was a changed city as a result. A lunatic dressed as a bat was flying around the city, beating its criminals to a pulp. There was no reason _not _to believe that same vigilante – known as Batman, apparently – was Bruce Wayne. Though he never aired his suspicions in person, Tony would occasionally drop subtle hints around the billionaire, allowing for him to tell him himself.

"You know, when you die, you're supposed to stay dead," he'd teased, before setting off for drinks with the younger man. They'd become as friends as they possibly could be for each other, or so Tony thought. Bruce was one of those obnoxious teetotalers, and he could manage to coax him into drinking an alcoholic beverage. No one ever got that close enough to Bruce Wayne to be able to do that, so he supposed he should feel rewarded.

He was unable to understand why Bruce was Batman until he was taken hostage. Until he saw what Bruce had seen and faced, and then he suddenly _understood everything_. Understood the pain, the despair, the loneliness. The darkness. The first person, save for Pepper, who he had talked to had been Bruce over the phone but Bruce hung up.

When he returned to America to work on building his Iron Man persona, a madman named The Joker was apparently wreaking havoc across Gotham City, and ultimately disgraced Batman's name. Bruce had become a recluse for some time after that before reappearing. With him, came Batman, whose name had been cleared.

Finally, they'd gotten the chance to sit down and serious talk. Tony explained Iron Man. Bruce explained Batman.

They hadn't spoken in two years.

But Tony was still sure he was in love with him.

It was better now than never.

Bruce's eyes were glued on his flatscreen, watching Iron Man disappear into the portal with the missile. It made his stomach drop. He hadn't realized he was thinking a messy mantra _of Tony you can do this come on for us for me do it please _ until Alfred jolted him back into awareness.

"Mr. Stark called a moment ago, sir. The ringing stopped before I could answer."

He was going to be sick.

_Call failed._

_Powering down._

Tony glanced at Bruce one more time before everything became dark and he was suddenly falling. Before he completely blacked out, he saw Bruce's face again and it was almost as if it was real, actually happening. Bruce was before him.

Content, Stark allowed himself to fall and there was soon nothing besides weightless darkness.

Later that evening, after having been out to eat with his fellow Avengers, Tony returned home to Stark Tower. He showered, dressed for a night of work in the shop, and expected to be alone. He did not expect Bruce Wayne to come knocking at his door at three in the morning.

The man was leaning heavily on his cane and appeared to be in pain, so Tony immediately led him to sit on the sofa. After a moment of silence between both parties, Bruce was, for once, the first to initiate a conversation.

"Why?"

Stark smirked. "That's very vague. There are reasons for everything in the universe, Brucie-Bear."

Wayne sighed. Even after a near-death experience only hours prior, the older man could be a complete pain.

"You know what I meant."

Tony folded his legs, looking straight ahead, avoiding Bruce's penetrating gaze. He appeared hesitant for a moment before beginning. "I realized something as I was going up there, that I needed to tell you."

Bruce quirked a questioning brow. "Which was?"

Tony hesitated even more, completely averting eye-contact with the other man. "That I l-."

A hand covered his on his lap and Bruce shook his head. "I already know. I've known, and I've felt the same way for as long as I can remember. I've never brought myself to act on it."

"_Really_, now?"

Bruce nodded.

They kissed, long and deep. Later, there would be arguments as to who initiated the kiss, but for now, they were at peace, with each other and the world around them.


End file.
